Hollywood Dreams

⑧ | 𝒜𝒹𝒶𝓂

Adam strolled amidst the guests, immersing himself in the ambiance of a quintessential Hollywood party. Clad in a borrowed suit from Gucci, he savored a glass of Dom Pérignon extended to him by a waiter in a crisp blue uniform. He was convinced he belonged here. For years, he had harbored the belief that he was destined to be part of the Hollywood elite, despite encountering a streak of misfortune. It had taken him seven arduous years to secure this opportunity, and he was determined to seize it to its fullest.

In the expansive hall, his gaze fell upon Julianne engrossed in conversation with Charlize Theron. Her figure, adorned in a modestly cut white dress, concealed beneath waves of vibrant red hair, exuded the confidence of a seasoned hostess. While perhaps considered past her prime as an actress, as the wife of a prominent producer, she maintained her standing among the Hollywood elite, at least until the impending divorce.

Eventually, Julianne noticed Adam's presence and bestowed upon him an eager glance. Returning the gesture as best he could, Adam drained his glass, resolved to ascend the marble stairs and seek out Henry Goldstein in his study. Julianne had divulged to him Henry's pre-party ritual of reclining in his armchair with a cigar.

"He insists that deals are best brokered in a relaxed atmosphere, but I suspect he simply relishes grand entrances," she had confided to Adam with a disdainful chuckle during their intimate moments in bed.

Adam determined that direct confrontation would be his most effective strategy. Having received the script from Julianne several days prior, he had devoted countless hours to honing the lines of the protagonist, Leon Thoren, in front of his mirror. While the forthcoming film boasted an array of finely crafted characters, Adam saw no reason to settle for a supporting role when the opportunity to shine as the lead presented itself. With everything to gain and nothing to lose, he was confident that by showcasing his portrayal of Leon Thoren to Henry, he would secure an invitation to a private audition.

As he ascended the stairs, he passed by Julianne's bedroom - the setting for many of their liaisons over the past few months - and made his way to the end of the hallway. Just as he prepared to knock on the door, voices emanated from within the room.

"I don't understand what you want from me," a man's voice spoke icily.

"Oh, please, Henry. Isn't it abundantly clear?" The woman's tone brooked no compromise. "I think it's a small matter compared to what would happen if it came out."

"And do you truly believe anyone would lend credence to your claims?"

"We can let the courts decide. I have nothing to lose."

Henry Goldstein sighed audibly. "Come to the studio on Wednesday at four. But I won't tolerate any presence of photographers. I make no promises."

"After all, it is your film!" the woman retorted indignantly.

"I will not cast her if she does not suit the role."

"But you will cast her. Otherwise, prepare for a media frenzy - and it won't be your film that garners attention."

"You've changed."

"I've matured. Enjoy the party, Henry. It may well be your last."

Adam swiftly retreated into the nearby bathroom and waited until the woman's footsteps receded into silence. He pondered intensely the implications of the conversation he had overheard. It appeared that Henry Goldstein harbored a secret, and some woman was leveraging it to secure a role in the film.

Lost in thought, he was startled by applause emanating from the terrace, followed by the sound of doors slamming shut and footsteps retreating. It seemed Henry Goldstein had vacated his study. Adam deliberated whether to intercept him in the hallway and divulge what he had overheard, but ultimately decided to bide his time. He needed more information.

Upon his return downstairs, he found the majority of guests had migrated to the terrace to witness Joel Delaney's performance. Adam failed to comprehend the allure of the singer. In his estimation, that coked-up Irishman owed his success more to luck than talent.

Spotting Henry engrossed in conversation with screenwriter Jack Stonewell, Adam noted the renowned producer's tall, gray-haired figure, distinguished by an unkempt beard. Though nearing seventy, Henry exuded an aura of authority, his cold blue eyes betraying little warmth.

Was this Adam's moment? Suddenly, his legs felt leaden. He realized that confronting the great Henry Goldstein in front of others would be foolhardy. For years, he had languished as an unemployed actor, devoid of an agent to advocate for him in the cutthroat industry. A rash outburst risked not only public rejection but also ridicule. In show business, talent alone seldom sufficed. In Los Angeles, there were thousands of talented artists scrubbing dishes just to get by, hoping that one day luck would smile on them. Adam didn't believe in that lottery. Adam harbored no faith in such arbitrary fortune. He needed to win over a significant figure in the film industry, and he needed to do so tactfully.

At that moment, Jack Stonewell turned and retraced his steps into the house. Of medium build and bespectacled, Jack was known within Hollywood circles to be bisexual, with a predilection for handsome young men. Adam hastily leaned against a nearby door and feigned interest in the stage.

"Pardon me, but could you direct me to the nearest restroom?" he inquired as Jack approached. It was a banal question, but Adam could conjure no better alternative. He flashed Jack a flirtatious smile. Though inherently straight, Adam recognized the stakes of the game in which he found himself embroiled.

Jack paused momentarily, casting an appraising glance over Adam's form. "I believe I can assist you. It appears we're headed in the same direction." A knowing smile played upon Jack's features.

Adam sensuously nibbled his lower lip. If Jack Stonewell's dick was his ticket to the audition, he might as well push it down his throat.

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